Darkest Places
by TheMacUnleashed
Summary: It was raining when Rex stood above the carnage; raining when Order 66 was declared, and it was raining when he didn't hesitate. Two-shot; contains character death.
1. Part I: Rain

It was raining as Rex stood above the carnage, barely able to distinguish the difference between whatever had been living beings, and what had been and always would be dead, metal droids.

There were others out there; he could hear them moving around over the sounds of hundreds and thousands of drops of water pounding into the ground in some crazy synchronization, some imperceptible pattern.

Part of him wanted to think that it was random, all of it; the slaughter of his brothers, the amounts of men and Jedi that they lost in each battle decided because some geezer who lived in the sky had tossed the die, and gotten the numbers.

That wasn't what he had been brought up to think, though; not what he was _supposed_ to think, and so he let it wander only briefly through his mind before chasing it away with more logical ideas.

His men. He'd get a tally, one better than the one he had taken during his walk, of who he had lost, and how many of the clankers they had brought down before getting lord-knew-what part of their bodies blown open.

The camp. That was where the intel officers were, the one that he should have contacted now -but what was the point? He could have a short walk to himself, just his mind and his broken up armour and his somehow intact body that had survived, and the rain. The rain was always there, ever since they'd hit this god-forsaken mudhole.

And besides, Rex didn't even know if his com-link was working or not. Probably not -if the constant rain hadn't gotten to it (waterproof -damned comedians in high places, damn the ones who wrote out the Republic's budget, _damn_ the ones who couldn't get them the proper equipment, _damn them, damn them, damn them_) then the shrapnel probably would have hit it in some key place, made it unusable.

He could see a multitude of lights ahead, the flashing ones of vehicles –left with the bodies of the ones they'd promised to save hours ago; they had offered him a lift, but he had wanted to, no, _needed_ to walk, to be alone—and the steady ones of the temporary dwellings that they had set up, just for however long it took them to leave this damned place.

He paused, leaned against a tree –his knees hurt; he was getting too old for this job. Soon this old sack of meat he was stuck in wouldn't be working right.

The thought almost made him laugh, since he was technically twelve years old, and had only been fighting for three years. Three long, dark years, which seemed to have taken a century, but still. The Jedi had fought more, and they weren't giving up. If they didn't…

No. He was looking to the Jedi for hope? The ones that weren't openly slaveholders were cowards, too afraid to speak up against the Republic's use of he and his brothers. No amount of kindness could make up for that; no amount of paperwork that she'd be getting done would change the fact that Ahsoka wasn't out here like she should be, the fact that she had moved on from their loss and behaved in a more official manner, doing what had to be done instead of mourning. Doing what he had to do, while he spent hours out on that graveyard, just walking.

His com-link buzzed, startling himself out of the revelry. It worked. How fortunate; the only bit of luck he'd had since getting here.

Clumsy, armoured fingers pulled it out from its place at his side, pressed a small button to bring up a holographic image. "Clone Commander 7567 reporting…"

"Commander Rex, the time has come." It was unmistakably Palpatine's voice, but lower and guttural. "Execute Order 66."

And with that, the world irrevocably changed.


	2. Part II: Change

Rex wasn't sure exactly what he said, but he knew it was an affirmative, what he was expected to say in reply: "Yes, of course I'll be your slave."

But no, that wasn't fair. Palpatine hadn't ordered them to the carnage and death. Palpatine had spoken out against it, been trying to end the war. The Jedi had been the ones to take them to war time after time. The Jedi had executed them with their orders.

Had they? Surely, he hadn't served under every Jedi that there was. And the ones he had weren't cruel. No, they were kind. They went to war. They died. They were as mindless as he was, and for that, he hated them. They weren't meant to be. They had mothers and fathers, kriffing idiots, all of them, who had given up their children to a life of servitude. And he didn't know exactly how it worked; had never thought to ask, but didn't Jedi have the right to leave? Couldn't any of them walk away right now?

He could too, though. He could turn his back away from the rapidly out-of-control fighting, and leave. Just abandon his brothers, and do like Cut Lawquane had, and find himself a family to adopt. Oh, it might not last long –he couldn't imagine living a completely normal, peaceful life; not him- but for a few years, he would be happy enough.

But he wouldn't leave. It went against his programming as a clone, and his morals, as a human. The Chancellor wouldn't lie, and so the Jedi must have gone rogue, and that meant they were dangerous. Too dangerous to be left alive.

And yet, somehow the idea of following protocol; of calling his men at the camp; the few who weren't injured and were still fully functioning, didn't appeal to him at the moment. He was fully planning on telling them, of course (since the alternative was to walk into camp and shoot the commander without an explanation, and _that_ certainly wouldn't go over well) but he knew if he sent the message now, then they would have no reason _not_ to proceed without him.

Who it was that shot the Jedi didn't matter to the record books, of course. As long as they were dead, Palpatine would be happy, and Rex's work would be done.

There was more to that, though –sentiment, perhaps. And it was his right as a leader, to be the one to fire the shot. He'd earned that much.

He stood there for a few more seconds, face lifted to the pouring rain, which had _finally_ started to lessen, until his programming met with his motor functions, and he found himself moving again, to go and perform his duty.

He drew closer to his destination, until he could vaguely make out the outlines of buildings, tents that had been sent up in their temporary camp. Small lights shone from fires, or many from electrical lights –but more likely not; the droids had destroyed their field generator.

It wasn't long before he met the first –and probably the only, given how greatly their numbers had been reduced- sentinel. T.L., that was his name, although Rex couldn't remember what it stood for.

"Evening, Rex." He saluted half-heartedly, and even in the rain-touched darkness, he looked so weary that Rex almost told him to go take a break, until he reminded himself that a sleeping guard was still better than no guard at all. "I hate to ask but… do you have the numbers?"

"No. We'll send a brigade out in the morning, if intel hasn't gotten one by then. Where's the General?"

"She's in her quarters. I think Cam forced her to go get some rest. She got pretty beat up in the fight, and after she was tending to some of the more minor injuries. She helped me patch up my arm." T.L.'s right hand gripped his other shoulder, and Rex realized that the white wrapping around it wasn't armor. "Why?"

"Sixty-six." One word was all it took, and he watched as the emotions drained out of the familiar face, and he stood a bit taller.

"Oh. Should I relay the word?"

"No. Actually, I might as well do it now. No offense, T.L., but they should hear it from me."

"Of course they should, sir." There was something in his comrade's voice which bordered on bitterness, but Rex didn't bother to comment on it. He could feel whatever he wanted to, if it

didn't interfere with his work.

It must have been nice to be a common soldier, and to have that freedom. With him, _any_ emotion would be too much, and he was wise enough to know it.

His hands fumbled as he reached down to where his com-link had been clipped back into place. Quickly, he keyed in the code to let him prerecord a message –all of his men would obey without hesitation; there was no need for him to be there to address each on individually.

"This is Commander Rex speaking. I'm forwarding you word directly from Palpatine. We are to execute Order 66; repeat, that's Order 66. I'll take on the Captain; the rest of you, be prepared to leave in the morning. Stay tuned; I'll call you if I need backup." Not the best plan, Rex reflected -after all, if it got to the point where he needed help from his men, he probably wasn't going to have time to call out- but he was pretty sure it wouldn't get to that point.

He ended the message and sent it out, using a code that could get it to all of the standard com-links the clones in his troop carried, and the just stood there for a moment, not thinking of anything in particular.

Beside him, T.L. shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Not much to do now, is there?"

"No. You can get off duty now, I guess." The repercussions of Palpatine's words were coming to him only slowly. If it was time to execute Order 66, then the war was over. If the war was over, the clankers weren't a threat, and if the clankers weren't a threat, what did it matter if T.L. stayed up and guarded the camp, or if he got some sleep?

"Yeah, I suppose I will." He didn't move, though.

"Right, then. I suppose I need to go and do what I've got to." Rex didn't wait for whatever few awkward parting words he would get from T.L.. He'd been bred to stand up and face the dirty, the bad, and the most downright hopeless situations that the galaxy had to throw out at him, and damn it, he would do just that.

***~***

The General's tent was dark as Rex approached it, and he had the irrational thought that she had absolutely no right to be sleeping right now; not while there were still corpses on the ground and dying men in the infirmary.

He hated it when he had those sort of thoughts, the ones that were based purely on emotion rather than the cold, simple logic he had grown up with, and he hated them even more when, like now, they weren't justified. It was easy to have enough hate inside him to hold against the Jedi, because plenty of them did deserve it, but when it was like this, and he knew  
that maybe, just maybe, the person he was about to execute wasn't entirely deserving of what he was bringing. And okay, she didn't deserve his previous thought at all; not she, who

had always stayed up with the men when they were getting treated, even when it got grisly.

But, he had to remind himself, she did deserve it on some level. She was a Jedi, after all.

He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, steeling himself, and then clutched his blaster tightly with one hand. Using the other, he stepped up to the entrance in three, quick strides and pushed open the door.

She wasn't sleeping, he had that wrong, although it was dark. She was sitting in the center of the tent, knees crossed and back bent. Her headtails fell forwards as she clutched as her red skin, gasping. "I can _feel_ them, all of them... Rex?" Ahsoka jumped to her feet, looking confused. "Rex, what's going on?"

"Commander... orders are orders." His hand wasn't quite steady as he raised the blaster. "I'm sorry."

"Rex-"

Turning away didn't make it easier, he found, but that didn't matter. He pulled the trigger, and she was too slow.

He did it five times, in a rapid succession, because she'd been kind, and she deserved this much. It was in the chest, straight and accurate, and quick.

Outside, the rain and the wind picked up, and he almost turned in a twisted fascination to see what he had done.

In the end, though, he just walked outside, and stood there, he feet sinking into the mud, and the cover of night slowly giving way to a cloudy day that was hardly any lighter. Time would clean up the messes; it had a way of doing that.

It was raining, still, and the universe changed quietly around them.


End file.
